Fulfillment is warm,
clean laundry, walking along
with the one, deep breaths.

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Among the ruins
of the decaying forest
lurked the rogue possum.

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Don’t think you can con
me out of dinner bites. I
see your tail wagging.

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Do not dwell on what
has been done, what has “worked,” but
go forth with gumption.

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The old-timers sit
and chuckle in their booths each
and every morning.

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We sometimes forget
those conflicts that kept us free,
and those who fought them.

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Somewhere, in the pens,
struts a turkey who’ll be my
Thanksgiving repast.

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Good people, good food,
stubbornness, sense of humor
and stories galore.

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The god of the forge
leapt from the mountaintop to
keep watch from up close.

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Begone, cynics and
sycophants. Let us begin
with true dialogue.

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The mistrust, the lies,
the hopelessness, the rancor,
the path to nowhere.

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The reins are tattered,
yet still tethered to horses,
strong but unguided.

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I’ll tell you what you
want to hear. But only if
you listen closely.

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Would it be OK
to get an extra hour
of sleep, clock keepers?

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They came for a stay,
to check on those not ready
yet for their last trip.

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